


Prologue

by redheadriverdale



Series: Love Letters to a Stranger [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 16:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16790953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadriverdale/pseuds/redheadriverdale
Summary: Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones have never met. Never bumped into each other on the street, never shared a gaze at a coffee shop, never stood in the same line at a checkout. Yet, somehow, they know each other like the palm of their hands. Their youths have been spent hunched over journals, scraps of paper, notebooks, restaurant napkins, spilling ink onto paper. Writing love letters to a stranger, who was anything but.





	Prologue

On November 12th of 2006, like a child whose pacifier is taken away under the false premise of a visit from a fairy, Betty Cooper was told to say goodbye to her imaginary friend. On her daughter’s tenth birthday, Alice Cooper had kneeled beside Betty in the front walkway of her house and told her that she was a “big girl” now, and that “big girls don’t have imaginary friends”. While Hal Cooper talked about the stock market with his wife’s array of carefully handpicked influential guests, Betty Cooper was crying outside, being told not to make a scene. She cried the whole night. Her tears put out three of the ten candles on her red velvet cake, which her mother forced her to eat anyways. Betty Cooper still hates birthdays.  
On the very same day, Jughead Jones’s father decided to do a good deed. He felt sorry for how little time he spent with his son, or more accurately, how little time his son spent with anyone. There was never anyone to keep him company at home, and, at school, he was the outcast who got picked on for talking to himself. That wasn’t true of course, Jughead Jones wasn’t talking to himself, he was talking to his friend. Well, his imaginary friend. And so to feel like a better father, FP Jones went to the local grocery store and bought a slice of his son’s favorite cake. He came home expecting an enthusiastic response, but, it seemed on that exact day, Jughead Jones has developed a great aversion to cake, and the sight of the ruby-toned dessert made him nauseous.

On May 4th of 2008, Jughead wrote to a stranger for the first time, not that Jughead would ever call her that. He didn’t know her name, the color of her eyes or her height. He didn’t know if she was right-handed or left-handed, if she was rich or poor or if she could touch the tip of her nose with her tongue, but he knew all he needed to know. She had been there his whole life. Stranger: “a person whom one does not know or with whom one is not familiar”, but Jughead knew her like the back of his hand. His imaginary friend was not like others’. In fact, she was anything but imaginary, she was living, breathing, loving, screaming somewhere out there in the world. Although there was no physical evidence that she was ever there, he could feel her presence. She tasted like hot chocolate, smelled like cinnamon and warmth oozed out of her. And wherever this beautiful, unfathomable, lovely creature that Jughead was begging to love was hidden, he knew she could feel him too. Feel his coldness, smell the cigarettes his father smoked around the house, hear the almost undetectable hum of his immaterial heart. When it was terribly quiet, which happened too often in both their households, as in the Jones’ there was rarely anyone but Jughead to make a sound, and in the Cooper’s Alice and Hal fought with the doors shut, he would whisper to her. “I know you’re there”. And when it was exhaustingly loud, which happened too often in both their households, as FP Jones’ weekend plans always involved having various gang members in his living room, and the Coopers’ weekend schedule was filled dinner parties, he would whisper to her. “Please stay here with me.”  
On the very same day, Betty Cooper wrote to a stranger for the first time, not that Betty would ever call him that. On that lovely, sunny morning, something broke in the delicate porcelain doll that was Elizabeth Cooper. Or better even, something was born. Nothing different or extraordinary happened that day, the day was perfectly mundane. In fact, that’s what made her crack. She was living the same day over and over again, with a few little changes like the color of her father’s tie or the headline on the newspaper. She would have breakfast, sit on the middle seat on the left side of the table, go up to her room and finish her school work, then be ready by 7:30 pm for a company event her parents were invited to. Betty Cooper’s life was as monotonous as they come. She knew she was going to attend a good university, join her parent’s firm, marry an appropriate man, have two children and live in a house with neatly labeled condiments. The only uncertainty in the universe of Elizabeth Cooper was him. She promised herself she would listen to her own voice and not her mother’s, although at times they sounded hauntingly similar. She would take him in and never question if she was crazy. She would enjoy this little gift from the universe, this patch of galaxy that somehow ended up on her doorstep, this second soul she carried around with her. She grabbed a notebook off her shelf and wrote and wrote and wrote and didn’t put down a comma or period for a good number of pages. Her handwriting wasn’t the one on her tests or awards, this was messy, unapologetic, frantic and primal. She wrote to him and it felt like a cold shower in the summer. Alice Cooper had kneeled beside her crying little girl on that night in 2003 and told her the that she had to know how to tell apart fake from real. On this night in 2008, Betty finally told them apart. He was the truest thing she’d ever known. The house she’d lived in her entire life felt like it would disintegrate the next time it rained, melt away like paper in water. Her friends were all made of wax, saying all the right things at the right time, never discussing politics at the dinner table. Her city felt like a production set. Betty felt like a toy, except when he was with her. She would never let him go.

On July 27th, 2011, Betty Cooper made a mistake, and it hollowed her heart. In 2008, she had promised to herself that she would keep him a secret. She always hid her journals under her pink autumn cardigans in her third shelf, stuffed the letters she’d written under her mattress and stuck her pages of poetry amidst thick books. But this was the summer, and summer always meant a little less seriousness and a little more careless. The Coopers always spent their vacations in the Hamptons, and, while it was still a hub for the rich and powerful, it was also filled with little hiding spots. The breeze in Betty’s hair and the cold water on her feet inspired her to write; her favorite spot was the edge of a pier just east of her house. That particular afternoon, she’d written like crazy, with a smile that made her face cramp. After she’d spilled all her thoughts onto paper, Betty Cooper, on the warm pier wood, slept with her body facing the sun, and it could have been the loveliest afternoon. It wasn’t, because, unfortunately for Betty, she wasn’t the only teenager to spend her vacation in the Hamptons, and among them was Max Westbrook. While he was once a good friend, something changed over the summers. Her sister, Polly, had a massive crush on him since they were kids, and, because life has a great sense of humor, he had a very obvious crush on Betty, which caused the sisters to split paths during the summer. Max’s maturity hadn’t changed since the second grade, so he thought the best way to get her attention was to bother her. On that fateful July day, Betty was woken by a sudden “What’s this?”. She turned to see Max standing above her, flipping through her journal with a malicious grin on his face. She quickly jumped to her feet, but by that time, Max was already running down the pier with her journal in his hands, chanting “Betty has an imaginary boyfriend, Betty has an imaginary boyfriend!”. The joke would last all summer among their friends, but what scared Betty the most wasn’t them, it was her mother, who’d always suspected that something wasn’t quite right with her daughter. Sure enough, her mother found out about her writing on the very same afternoon and brought it up after dinner. She demanded to read the journal and threatened to send her to the psychiatrist if she didn’t comply, but as afraid of her mother as Betty Cooper was, and as aware that she was not bluffing, this she wouldn’t do. She refused to hand Alice the journal. “Very well”, she sternly responded, then left the room.  
On the very same day, Jughead was home alone. The Joneses never left New York for vacation, and F.P. always told him “men like us don’t get days off. Better learn that soon, kid.” He sat on the fire escape, because he liked the shade and the wind, and looking into windows of the buildings across from him. He sat on the steps and wrote, with his feet dangling off the 9th floor. He wrote about how he was odd numbers and she was even ones, he was midnight and she was midday, he was steel and she was velvet. Soon, Jughead laid on the red metal below him and closed his eyes, feeling fulfilled after writing. On that July afternoon, as they both slept soundly in their very own hiding spots, in their shared solitude, they dreamt of each other. In the dream, the city was empty, everything was quiet. They stood on opposite sides of a street and ran towards each other, desperate to reach each other’s arms. It could have been a wonderful afternoon, but it wasn’t. Jughead suddenly woke up, breathless. He immediately knew there was something wrong with her, but there was nothing he could do, and that was the worst feeling in the world. Sadness enveloped him that whole afternoon and worry never left him for a second. He felt something pull Betty away from him, and the feeling wouldn’t leave him anytime soon.

On August 2nd, 2011, the feeling of lost connection deepened in Jughead. He knew that, wherever she was, something was holding her back, locking her in, pulling them apart. He couldn’t write anymore. It wasn’t because he had nothing to say, he did, he still loved her like he always had: blindly, faithfully and undeniably. It was because Jughead never wrote for himself, he wrote for her, and this time, she wasn’t listening. Ever since that day in June, the silences that plagued him when he went to bed or was left on his own were outspoken and accusing. They pointed fingers at Jughead. These silences felt like two former lovers, sitting alone in the same room, pretending to be strangers. It was the oddest of feelings, and the most agonizing of all too. But, on August 2nd, all of that went away. She was no longer distant, aloof, in hiding: she simply wasn’t there. He couldn’t feel her at all, and it drove him crazy. It drove him to believe she was never there in the first place, that she was only a figment of his imagination. All the warmth and love she brought to him was drained out of his body, he was hollow, made of thin ice. These silences at night felt different: they felt like sitting in an empty room in front of a mirror, looking at a stranger and pretending they’re a friend. Jughead didn’t recognize his life anymore, the feeling of her was so inherently there that, when it was pulled away from him, nothing made sense. Jughead hid all his journals. He still doesn’t know why he didn’t throw them away, he hopes it’s because there was still a little of her left in him.  
On the very same day, Betty took her first of many pills. After that day in the Hamptons, the subject of her ‘imaginary boyfriend’ had not been touched upon in the Cooper household. But, on the previous day, Alice Cooper knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door, catching her by surprise, and told her to get dressed: they had a visit to the psychiatrist. She sat in Dr. Graham’s room and sunk into his couch. He asked her questions, and at first, they were casual, like “what do you usually do on weekends?”, but they grew into questions that would plague her for long after she went home, questions like “have you ever felt the urge to escape?” At the end of the session, he asked Betty to sit in the waiting room and asked her parents to come in. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it didn’t seem like happy news. Hal left the room with pity in his eyes, Alice was unreadable. She held a thin piece of paper in her hands, a prescription. They stopped by the pharmacy on the way home, and Betty was told to stay in the car. Betty cried her eyes out, wetting the leather seats below her, screaming and gripping at her hair, unable to breathe. It would be a very long time before Betty cried again, which she would grow to miss. On the following day, the 2nd, Betty took her first pink pill with her breakfast, and it was, ironically, the easiest thing to swallow at the time. The medication was supposed to make her less ‘confused’, and they did as promised. Betty became less confused, because he was her one uncertainty, and he was gone. She became numb, and she started to accept the reality that she had rebelled against on that Sunday morning in 2008. She told herself that the only real things are ones that can be touched. A girl who lived in a brownstone and had pink bedroom walls, a girl who did her homework and only said yes, a girl who laughed at jokes at dinner parties and who knew her table manners, a girl who liked to listen to her father talk when he sailed and who was committed to her backhand, a girl who was disillusioned: this was Betty Cooper. She pushed him away, refused to acknowledge he even existed at all. It was a childish delusion. She put all her journals in a box in the attic. She still doesn’t know why she didn’t throw them away, she hopes it’s because there was still a little of him left in her.

On February 3rd, 2016, the last bit of infinitesimal hope in Elizabeth - hope that her long-lost soulmate was indeed real and not her own creation, that he was out there longing for her - washed away. It was the day Maxwell Westbrook proposed to her. This was, of course, what the Coopers and Westbrooks had planned since Betty and Max were children: for two of Manhattan’s most influential families to converge. He leaned in over the restaurant table, reached for her hand, looked into her eyes and said “Look, Betty. I know I’m not who you thought you’d be with, but think about it.” He went on to say they were perfect for each other. And, in a practical sense, they were. They were raised the same way, their parents had been friends since they were children, and they both knew what it was like to live in the spotlight. He grasped her hand tighter, “We could be New York’s power couple, I’ll work in my dad’s cabinet next year, then in a couple years I’ll get a position. Betty, before you know it, you could be the mayor’s wife! Then who knows what?” At first, she didn’t quite grasp what was going on, despite the fact that their relationship had already lasted four exact years. This dinner was supposed to be a celebration of their anniversary, but it soon became more. Maxwell stood up, buttoned his suit, and got on one knee. Out of his pocket, he pulled out a small, navy leather box with Harry Winston’s unmistakable golden initials engraved. He opened the box to reveal a glistering diamond ring. He looked up at Betty, whose eyes had widened and hands had moved to cover her mouth. “Elizabeth Cooper, will you marry me?”. She nodded, unable to speak, prompting a sigh of relief from the restaurant, which was attentively watching and photographing the long-awaited engagement of New York’s lucky heirs. Tears of happiness escaped their eyes, and Betty hoped with her whole heart that hers were only of joy, and not mixed with sorrow and rue. They stood up to embrace each other, and kiss for the first time as not boyfriend and girlfriend, but as fiancé and fiancée. He then slid the ring onto her finger and continued to tell her he loved her. After their commemorations, they sat back down, still teary-eyed, and Max motioned to the waiter. ”Bring us your finest bottle of Champagne,” he smiled at her, “We’re celebrating tonight”.  
On the very same day, Jughead was brought back to a far too familiar feeling. He didn’t know what had happened, all he knew was that the love of his life was someone else’s. He could feel it. He felt every touch she received. He felt the other man holding her hand, kissing her cheek, stroking her hair, whispering into her ears. Even when he tried to fight it, to move on, his daily activities were interrupted by reminders that she would never belong to him: wine he couldn’t afford at the back of his throat, the smell of expensive cologne, the clinking of crystal.

On January 22nd, 2019, Jughead Jones saw Betty Cooper for the first time.  
On that very same day, Betty Cooper lost Jughead Jones for, hopefully, the very last time.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long long time ago and didn't have the courage to post it, but I've finally reached the last and best version. I've never written a multi-chapter fanfic before, so I'm hoping this will make for a good debut. Please please please leave feedback or a comment if you enjoyed it so I know if I should continue, or shoot me a message on Tumblr @lodgebaby. There I'll also post extra content relating to the series (moodboards, playlists, social media aus, etc.) Big thank you to my beta readers (on tumblr): @sweetpca, @colesmoles and @daisy-chain-gardens! Hope I got everyone!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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